


Obvious

by starsystems



Category: Yamada Tarou Monogatari | The Story of Yamada Taro (TV)
Genre: M/M, Wordcount: 500-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-28
Updated: 2009-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsystems/pseuds/starsystems
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mimura fails (at noticing something obvious).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obvious

It's dark on the porch, so dark that Mimura can barely see his own hands, and it's easier to imagine that no time at all has passed since he last sat there. Yamada hums happily next to him, belly full from the dinner, radiating warmth through his jacket when they accidentally bump shoulders. Mimura feels skittish and twitchy, ready to jump (away or closer, he isn't sure), and so insecure that he wonders how the last eight years had suddenly disappeared. He's seventeen again, there's really no other explanation for this sudden burst of hormonal stupidity he's experiencing.

"This is just like old times," Yamada hums and brushes against Mimura again, this time deliberately, longer press of warmth along his side.

"I was just thinking that," Mimura smiles into the darkness.

Yamada laughs, delighted. They lapse into silence again.

Mimura watches the stars. He wonders why they always seem brighter when he's seeing them from the porch of the ramshackle Yamada house. They shouldn't be, Tokyo is sprawling all around them, radiating light into the sky just like everywhere else in the city. But the stars are bright and the cloudless sky looks vast over them, arching so high that Mimura gets a little dizzy when he stares up at it.

"It's been a while," Yamada says and his voice is gentle.

It has. Countless (seven) months of not seeing each other, either too busy or pretending to be too busy, finding other things to do with their time. Mainly it's Mimura's fault, most of the excuses were his. But Yamada had some of his own too.

Yamada's girlfriend was beautiful, in that homely sort of way. Her cheeks were round and eyes gentle, radiating the feeling of _home_ all around her. She always smiled sweetly to Mimura when they met (three times) and Mimura had made himself scarce. He hadn't much liked the way he had immediately started having _plans_ about how to separate them. Because they had been perfect for each other and Yamada had been happy.

But now... Now he is sitting here again, unable to keep away.

"The kids missed you," Yamada says into the dark. And it shouldn't be that funny, but it is. The way Yamada still referred to his siblings as ‘the kids'. Yoshiko – _little Yoshiko_ – is eighteen already.

Mimura feels old, suddenly.

"Taro..." he starts, and he can't remember the last time he said Yamada's name like that. (A lie. He remembers exactly when.)

Yamada laughs and it sounds a little nervous now, like he knows something is coming, something that he might not like to hear.

"See," Yamada interrupts, "See, I thought you didn't like me anymore, or that I scared you away that night, when."

Suddenly, Mimura can't look away from the stars. He lets them dance in front of his eyes. His throat feels dry.

Yamada laughs again, and then clears his throat. "It was only, only a... a kiss," he says and, yes, Yamada has always been the brave one out of them. "They happen."

No. No, they really don't. At least not to Mimura. He isn't sure about Taro. Taro might be just the kind of person that actually gets kissed accidentally all the time. Mimura tries really hard not to feel jealous.

"I know you didn't mean it like that."

Yes. Yes, he really, really did.

"Uh," Mimura says out loud, needing to do _something_. To say something, to make some contribution to this disaster of a conversation.

"I broke up with her. Right away, that night," Taro suddenly says. "She was wonderful, but she wasn't what I wanted. I mean, I thought that was _obvious_."

Mimura swallows and closes his eyes, thinking about seven months worth of time. Seven months worth of dry hours, delicate like ancient parchment. He thinks about eight years worth of time. He thinks about _Yamada Taro_ telling him that he has missed something (supposedly) obvious. He thinks, bizarrely, about sponge cake. Then he reaches out and takes Taro's hand into his, fingers twining together, palms dry and warm.

"Okay," Mimura says. "Yeah. Obvious."


End file.
